


Confined to Quarters

by Laylah



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Master/Servant, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: "Well," Xander says. "Have we had enough of sitting quietly and doing nothing?"Laslow's shoulders tense and he holds very still for a moment, visibly trying to work out the correct answer. "...Yes, milord?"Xander nods. "Then make yourself available for me."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Megan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/gifts).



Xander's study is quiet except for the scratch of his quill across parchment. Or at least it should be. Periodically the quiet is interrupted by a soft huff of frustration, a hiss of breath through clenched teeth. After enough of those sounds, Xander puts his quill down.

"Struggling won't help you, you know," he says without turning around.

"Forgive me for disturbing your concentration, milord," Laslow says, sounding far more aggravated than truly sorry. "This isn't exactly comfortable."

"Then I suppose it's a shame I can't trust you to behave yourself when you're given free rein," Xander says mildly. "I'd be more lenient if you spent more time in constructive pursuits. But bothering townswomen isn't a constructive use of your time, is it?"

Laslow sighs heavily.

"I can't hear you, Laslow."

"No, milord," Laslow admits. "It isn't."

"And as this is hardly the first time you've found yourself in this position, yet your behavior remains unreformed, it appears you enjoy being chastised."

The silence that follows is nerve-wracking. For a lord to discipline his wayward retainers is reasonable and sometimes necessary, but to discipline them _like this_...

"Yes, milord," Laslow says quietly, and Xander can breathe again.

"Then contemplate the virtue of patience," Xander says. He picks his quill back up. "I will give you the attention you crave after I finish my work here."

"I'm at your command," Laslow says.

Reviewing orders for troop supplies is dull work at the best of times, never mind when temptation kneels only a few feet away. Only the need to set a good example keeps Xander at his desk until the work is done.

When at last he's satisfied that everything is in order, he pushes his chair back from the desk and stands. His most pressing responsibilities are taken care of, and now he can attend to more fulfilling ones.

Laslow is right where Xander left him: kneeling in the middle of the room, his thighs spread wide by the bar between them, his arms bound behind him tightly enough to pull his shoulders back. He's watching Xander right up to the moment when Xander meets his eyes, and then he looks down immediately, a flush coloring his face.

"Well," Xander says. "Have we had enough of sitting quietly and doing nothing?"

Laslow's shoulders tense and he holds very still for a moment, visibly trying to work out the correct answer. "...Yes, milord?"

Xander nods. "Then make yourself available for me."

A shudder runs through Laslow's frame and his blush deepens. For all that he's an incorrigible attention seeker, he's also tremendously self-conscious; sometimes it seems as though he struggles more with being on display than with anything else Xander requires of him.

Still, he doesn't protest. He lifts himself up on his knees and spills forward slowly, dancer's grace evident even in a situation like this, until he's splayed out and vulnerable with his head and shoulders on the floor and his ass in the air. The lattice of black rope up the length of his arms contrasts handsomely with the fairness of his skin. The base of the plug he's wearing is just visible, nestled between the cheeks of his ass. Xander is almost tempted to forego what he had planned in favor of simply taking him like this immediately.

But there are other things Xander wants, too, and they're best indulged first. He opens his wardrobe and reaches for one of the implements hanging on the door: the riding crop first, to warm up Laslow's fine fair skin.

He trails the flat of the keeper up the back of Laslow's thigh, either a warning or a promise, and Laslow shivers in his bonds. "Shall we begin?" Xander says.

"I'm not going anywhere," Laslow answers lightly.

Xander's lips purse as he tries to decide whether the attitude is more charming or obnoxious. But there's no need to come to a firm conclusion, is there? He has plenty of reason to punish Laslow either way.

He flicks his wrist, slapping the crop against the pale expanse of Laslow's thigh. It makes a satisfyingly loud noise, even though that was only a light warm-up blow, and Laslow makes an equally satisfying hitched gasp.

The next blow lands on the other side, a match for the first. Already Laslow's skin is flushing pink where the crop has landed. Xander aims higher with the next ones, striking the firm flesh of Laslow's ass and enjoying the way he twitches at each impact.

"If you crave attention so badly, you know, you have only to ask for it," Xander says. He increases the intensity of the blows steadily, warming Laslow's flesh and making him shiver. "Your behavior reflects on your lord as well as yourself."

Laslow makes an incoherent noise. "I don't mean to disgrace you, my lord, of course I don't. I just can't help myself, an opportunity arises and—"

"Do you need a more lasting reminder?" Xander asks. "Should I fit your cock with a cage, so it's less likely to lead you astray? Keep it restrained whenever you're not under my supervision?"

The sound wrenched from Laslow's throat at that is nothing short of a whine. "Please, no, my lord, I can be better, I promise I can."

"I know you can, if you care to." Xander takes a step back, admiring Laslow's helpless availability. "Let's see if you have enough motivation to do so now, shall we?"

Laslow nods. "Yes, my lord. Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me yet," Xander says mildly. "I think you're about ready for the cane."

Laslow whimpers, shuddering all over as if he could attempt an escape—but he doesn't plead for mercy the way he did at the idea of the cage.

Xander puts the crop away and takes up the rattan cane in its place: like the crop, it's small and lightweight, easy to use in close quarters. But without a leather keeper at its tip to gentle it, the cane is deceptively vicious for such a little thing.

He runs one hand up the back of Laslow's thigh, the flesh reddened and hot to the touch. "How many strokes would you say you're due?"

Laslow takes a few deep breaths. "Eight?" he suggests. "Two for each complainant?"

That's better than Xander expected him to offer. And yet the way he reacts to the cane is so compelling, and the bruises look so good.... "Let's make it three for each," Xander says. "Maybe that will make the lesson sink in a bit more."

"As you wish, my lord," Laslow says, though he sounds less than enthusiastic. 

"Indeed," Xander agrees. "Don't fret. Your punishment won't last long."

Laslow takes a deep breath, and when he lets it out some of the tension seems to go out of him. "I'm ready, my lord."

"Good." Xander lets him go and takes a step back. He measures the distance, then snaps his wrist to land the first blow. Laslow yelps, and the mark rises to the surface almost instantly: the pale center where the shaft landed and the purple bruising on either side, striping the crease at the top of his thigh. Xander's heart rate speeds. He strikes again. A matching bruise blossoms on the other side.

Each blow that lands makes Laslow jump, as though the force is magnified through his flesh enough to shake him. His breathing comes fast and shallow between strokes, his hands flexing helplessly at the small of his back. Xander's cock aches, watching him struggle to accept the pain when there's nothing he can do to prevent it.

At the tenth stroke, Laslow sobs. 

Xander stops. "Are you all right?" He kneels beside Laslow, a hand on his shoulder.

Laslow's eyelashes are wet. He licks his lips. "Two more, wasn't it?" he asks shakily.

"I won't think less of you if you say you've had all you can take," Xander says.

"But I will," Laslow says with a weak little smile. "Finish it."

Xander bends down and kisses his temple. "Thank you."

Laslow doesn't hold back for those last two strokes, writhing in his bonds, crying out shamelessly at the pain as they land. He's shaking when they're done. The twin rows of bruises are vivid, rich purple stripes across his ass and thighs. It looks wonderful.

Xander sets the cane aside and kneels behind him, tracing the marks, running his hands up Laslow's sides and back down over his bound arms. Xander's heart tells him, at times like this, to take care of Laslow and make sure he's all right; his cock tells him to claim what's his. He's fortunate that it's possible, in this arrangement they have, to do both together. He slips one hand down between Laslow's spread thighs, cups his balls and then takes hold of his cock.

" _Oh_ ," Laslow says, throaty and warm. He's not fully hard, certainly not the way Xander is, but he's responsive, rocking his hips, his cock thickening at Xander's coaxing touch. "Yes, mmn. I like this part."

"Good to see you haven't been too daunted," Xander says. "I knew your enthusiasm had to be around here somewhere."

"Right there, yes," Laslow agrees, thrusting into his hand.

Xander lets him have another minute of that, enough to bring him to full hardness and make him start gasping out sweet hungry noises at each stroke. He whines when Xander lets go.

"We're not done," Xander promises. He presses close against Laslow's ass, grinding his hard cock against that tender flesh—and Laslow moans despite the bruises. "Stay right there."

"Since you insist," Laslow says, breathy and amused.

Xander pulls away just long enough to retrieve a vial of oil before he kneels behind Laslow again. He unfastens his trousers and bares his cock, giving himself a few slow strokes as he admires Laslow's bound and bruised state. "I think it's time you gave this back," he says, taking hold of the plug in Laslow's ass.

"Mmn, got something else for me?" Laslow asks. At this angle Xander can't see his face well but he'd bet Laslow is blushing. "I'd hate to go empty."

And no wonder he's blushing, when saying these sorts of things is honestly more difficult than going through with any number of perverse actions. "Don't worry," Xander makes himself say, his voice carefully even. "I won't leave you unfulfilled."

He rocks the plug and Laslow moans, squirming against him. "Go ahead," Laslow says. "Go ahead, gods, take me."

There's no way Xander can bring himself to resist that plea. He pulls the plug free and tosses it aside, then oils his cock and presses the head of it up against the stretched ring of Laslow's hole.

"Yes," Laslow groans as Xander starts to press in. "Like that, gods, you fill me up—you're so big, _nnh_ ," and his bound hands are clutching at Xander's shirt when Xander gets all the way in. "So much, you're just. Fuck."

Xander moans, closing his eyes and letting himself adjust to the sensation, the unbearably soft heat surrounding his cock, the tight clutch of muscle where he stretches Laslow's ass open. He rocks his hips just enough to savor the movement, the friction against sensitive flesh.

"More," Laslow pleads after a few of those short strokes. "Please. Please, my lord, fuck me, fuck me hard."

"Come here," Xander says hoarsely. He wraps an arm around Laslow's waist and leans back, sitting back on his heels, pulling Laslow into his lap. Laslow moans at the shift in position, hips rocking as he drives himself down onto Xander's cock. 

Xander drops a hand down to take hold of Laslow's cock in turn, pinning him between the two sensations. Precome smears his fingers, sticky-slick against the head of Laslow's cock, and Laslow bucks toward the touch.

"Yes," Xander breathes. "Like that, move for me. Let me feel how much you want it."

"Want it so much," Laslow says. His thighs flex as he moves, pushing up into Xander's hand and then down onto his cock, sliding slick and hot and tight. "F-feels so good, getting stuffed like that, having your big cock fill me up."

They should do this in front of a mirror so Xander can see his face when he says things like that, see if he's blushing the way it seems like he must be. But that's a thought for next time. This time, Xander just thrusts up into him harder, making him cry out in helpless, pleading need.

There are already tremors running through Laslow's thighs, a sure sign that he's close. His hips hitch in a staccato, interrupted rhythm, his breath coming short. "Please," he says, "please, please," and can't seem to get past that word to a coherent request.

"Yes," Xander says anyway. "Yes, do it," and he knows it won't take him much longer either. He keeps his own rhythm as steady as he can, giving Laslow what he needs—and then he feels it as Laslow climaxes, the wrenching full-body shudders and the rhythmic clenching of his ass, his seed slicking Xander's hand.

Before he can think twice about whether he's asking too much, Xander lifts his fingers to Laslow's lips, presses them into his mouth. Laslow moans around them, sucking them clean. It's so _much_ —his surrender, his willingness to be bound and beaten and fucked, his pleasure in it—and Xander lets himself go, his own climax wracking him, white-hot and perfect.

He lets his head fall forward, his forehead against Laslow's shoulder, and pants for breath. His heart is pounding. He feels weightless. It's wonderful.

After a minute Laslow says, "Still awake back there?"

Xander laughs, the reaction surprised out of him. Laslow's attitude _is_ more charming than obnoxious after all, at least when he feels like this. "You'll be wanting the use of your arms back, I'm guessing."

"I do find them useful, yes," Laslow agrees.

Xander kisses his nape, then reaches down to wrap both hands around his hips and steady him as they disengage. "I can't argue with that," he says. He starts pulling apart the knot holding the ropes taut. "Once you're free, perhaps I could impose on my loyal retainer to draw me a bath."

"Mmm." The ropes fall loose and Xander massages his way down Laslow's arms. "Will you be requiring attendance in the bath, my lord?"

"Absolutely," Xander says. 

Laslow looks back over his shoulder, his smile comfortable and relaxed. "I'm at your service."


End file.
